A Question of Proof
by mssparrington
Summary: Slash! Sparrington short- Jack convinces Norrington that they are alike, yet entirely different. More angst than romance, perhaps. Norrington's POV


Disney did it! I am entirely innocent.

Just a Sparrington short. This is it. There is no more.

Shameless pimping- think Oneiriad, for when you get fed up with my crap and want to read something good.

A Question of Proof

It had been five months since Sparrow's escape from the gallows, five months of the most ridiculous Sparrow sightings. James had taken to burning the midnight oil to sort through what might be considered evidence but read like pure fantasy. Why not? Sparrow had become his professional obsession, nothing more. It wasn't as if there were anything else in the Caribbean even a fraction as interesting. What did it matter if he spent most of his nights working? He wasn't sleeping anyway. Since the whole affair of Miss Swann's kidnapping he had slept nothing close to a good eight hours. Most nights, he felt lucky just to get three.

James flipped through report upon report of Sparrow's daring, of his stellar wit, of his attractiveness. Yes! His attractiveness! It didn't sound so ludicrous coming from lonely widows and dried up spinsters, but from officers of the Royal Navy and seasoned merchant captains? The latest of these Sparrow reports arrived just this morning. A ship bound for Port Royal, the Constance Marie, was waylayed by the rogue and his motley crew. Instead of robbing passengers like any proper pirate would, Sparrow expressed concern for the shortage of drinking water on board and ordered barrels of fresh water and several cases of fruit delivered over from the Black Pearl, before taking his rather theatrical leave. What kind of game was the pirate playing?

James rubbed his eyes. His head was pounding. No doubt he was coming down with something. He cleared his desk by stuffing the Sparrow reports into his bottom drawer wondering how much longer they would fit there. The man seemed hell bent to garner any celebrity to be had.

Sometimes James had the strangest feeling that Sparrow acted solely for his audience. He imagined Sparrow quite pleased with himself, envisioning the consternation written on the features of an overtaxed Commodore who had to make sense of each and every report of these eccentric antics. Norrington left the fort without so much as a word to those he passed. He didn't even bother chastising one the sentries on duty for the ink stains all down the front of the man's uniform.

Damnable Jamaican weather! He was halfway home, perfectly equi-distant from both his house and the fort when without warning the sky opened. Rain poured down torrentially soaking him through. At some point, he realized that he had stopped walking and now just stood, his head hanging, his shoulders slumped. He felt the irrational urge to sit down and sob. Suddenly he was knocked to the ground hard and before he could react, his arms were pinned. Abject terror fought with his need to breathe.

"Evening Commodore! Rather a wet one, innit mate?"

"Sparrow!"

"Aye! Sorry for the rough treatment. I needed a word and wasn't at all sure how you'd be receiving me. Best not to leave some things to chance, ey?"

"Unhand me this instant!"

"In good time- well before you drown and after I've had me little say."

James struggled. Sparrow kneed him just hard enough to convince him to stop. "None of that, now, Commodore. Here I am risking life and limb just for your benefit! Least you can do is hear me out."

"What is it that you want?"

"Just this Commodore," Jack whispered hoarsely into Norrington's ear.

Jack pressed himself solidly against Norrington's groin and caught Norrington's lips in a scorching kiss. It was as if James exited his body entirely and stood looking down on the scene. It was too surreal for his mind to comprehend any other way. Today had been an ordinary day. Now somehow, he was here on his back in mud, in the pouring rain, under Jack Sparrow, and was thoroughly enjoying it, all of it.

Wet clothing was hardly adequate protection from the man's insistent grinding. Norrington's cock felt in danger of tearing through the fabric of his soaked breeches. His arms were now free, in a manner of speaking. They now were not pinned but were tightly wrapped around the man on top of him. Sparrow was no longer kissing him. He was kissing Sparrow! His mind barely registered these facts when Sparrow broke the kiss and somehow managed to pin his arms again.

"Do you understand my message, Commodore?"

Clearly Sparrow expected him to answer. He heard himself say in a tiny, uncertain voice, "No."

"No, I didn't think so. We are not so different you and I, Commodore. I would hang as a pirate. You would hang as a sodomite. Society does not care if we are good men, or the very worst on offer. Unlike the law, both of us can appreciate good men. On the same side, you and I, love. I'm in your corner; you're in mine. As such, we should be rooting for each other. Don't you think? That's all I wanted to say, James."

Jack climbed off Norrington and offered him a hand up. James took it.

"Goodnight, Commodore. Until we meet again." Jack bowed deeply and turned to leave.

"Jack! Please! Don't go."

The rain was letting up now, slowing to just a drizzle, just enough to wash the last of the mud from the back of Norrington's uniform.

"Can't stay, James."

"Please stay! For me? Just tonight, just this once?"

"James, mate, don't feel badly. A lot of men make the same mistake. Truth is though, I prefer women. Sorry."

Norrington watched as Sparrow disappeared into the night. He watched when he could not see Sparrow. He stood there a long while, even after he realized that he was shivering. He wondered suddenly if this was how each of them had felt, the old merchant, the shy midshipman, the hopeless spinster, and lonely widow, each writing out a ridiculous account of crossing paths with Captain Jack Sparrow.

...thanks for reading.


End file.
